


The Horrible and Incredibly Short Life of Draco Malfoy

by flamingstuffs



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bondage, I'm Sorry, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-29
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-04-24 00:49:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4899136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamingstuffs/pseuds/flamingstuffs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco hates Defense Against the Dark Arts. For eighth year, McGonagall hired a man named Jedediah Piggett, who wears flowery shirts straight out of the 70's and insists that everyone who isn't a Slytherin calls him Jed. The class is basically just him spouting a bunch of bull about conspiracy theories and ranting about Death Eaters. He smokes cigars that fill up the entire classroom with thick, reddish smoke and gives Draco (and only Draco) far too much homework to finish within the time limit. Draco has basically given up on DADA and is now failing the class, which Piggett attributes to his wartime allegiances. Piggett has also displayed frightening tendencies toward violence, and had voiced the thought that Death Eaters (no matter the circumstance) should be executed without trial. So when Draco was asked to stay after class he assumed it was probably his death sentence. </p><p>***MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING***<br/>DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE TO BASICALLY ANYTHING</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Horrible and Incredibly Short Life of Draco Malfoy

Draco hates Defense Against the Dark Arts. For eighth year, McGonagall hired a man named Jedediah Piggett, who wears flowery shirts straight out of the 70's and insists that everyone who isn't a Slytherin calls him Jed. The class is basically just him spouting a bunch of bull about conspiracy theories and ranting about Death Eaters. He smokes cigars that fill up the entire classroom with thick, reddish smoke and gives Draco (and only Draco) far too much homework to finish within the time limit. Draco has basically given up on DADA and is now failing the class, which Piggett attributes to his wartime allegiances. Piggett has also displayed frightening tendencies toward violence, and had voiced the thought that Death Eaters (no matter the circumstance) should be executed without trial. So when Draco was asked to stay after class he assumed it was probably his death sentence. 

Draco stays seated during the flurry of exiting students. He places his shoes on the desk, a show of nonchalance. He leans back, hands behind his head, and rests on the desk surface behind him. He closes his eyes and concentrates on breathing calmly and in a relaxed manner. 

"Mr. Malfoy." The deep voice is unexpectedly right next to his ear and Draco fights to keep his eyes shut.  
He feels leather on his neck, encircling his throat. Draco's eyes open, and Piggett's face is far too close. His hands are roughly grabbed and Piggett fastens a brown leather cuff to each of the pale wrists and seals them with magic.   
Draco makes a sound of indignation and the collar tightens and god, he can't breathe, okay, not good - his head feels light, and there are black spots in his vision -

"Behave, Malfoy." Piggett chuckles menacingly and the collar loosens, thank Merlin. He hooks a thick finger underneath the leather and pushes Draco's chin up, as if studying his sharp jawline and Draco exhales sharply. "Just do what you're told, Blondie, and you'll be fine. I'll be summoning you soon." With that, Piggett leans back and proclaims much too loudly and cheerfully: "Now, off to class, Mr. Malfoy! Don't forget your scarf." 

Draco almost decimates a chair, he's gone so quickly. He's breathing far too fast but he can't help it - it's just so wrong, and this shouldn't be happening HERE, he was supposed to be safe here and if he isn't safe at Hogwarts then he isn't safe anywhere. This all runs through his head so quickly he feels dizzy, or maybe its just lingering from being oxygen deprived. He checks the hallway - empty, a good thing - and ducks behind a tapestry to where there is a secret-ish alcove where he can really start to panic.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

Draco feels the burning in the middle of dinner. His wrist-leather things are painfully hot, and he glances down at them to see a message crawling across them in a golden script. He discreetly rises from the Slytherin table, although several people do notice and give him odd looks, and whispered insults go ignored as he swiftly exits the Great Hall. Slipping into the men's, he swiftly locks himself in a stall and reads the writing marching around his wrists. '/Dungeons. 7 o'clock. Alone. Tardiness will be punished./' He checks his pocket watch and shit, shit it's literally seven right now. He feels his breathing become restricted and tries to stay calm but he can barely breathe and he's running, flat out because being airless is the worst possible thing in the world and all Draco wants is to fucking breathe. 

He arrives, panting, at the dungeons five minutes late. Piggett eyes him up and down and wordlessly motions for Draco to follow him. They go deeper into the dungeons, the torches becoming dimmer and more useless the longer they walk. Draco's starting to wonder how long this hallway goes on for when Piggett comes to an abrupt stop and hauls Draco through a doorway.   
The room is small, containing only a bed, and lots of sinister looking chains and ropes and objects that Draco doesn't even want to think about. Piggett lights a cigar, and speaks around the reddish smoke. 

"Strip." 

Draco turns pink with rage and balls his hands into fists but then the collar tightens and he hastily unbuttons the top of his shirt. He glares at Piggett as he shrugs off his robes and his shirt. Draco looks away as his pants come off, and he hesitates.  
"Everything." Piggett growls at him.  
Draco squeezes his eyes shut and just does it, just pulls them off and chucks them on the floor with violence. He stands with his arms crossed, feet planted and a scowl that could curdle dairy. 

Piggett manhandles him onto the bed, and Draco can't do much about it, because one, Piggett is two times his size and two, Piggett is also heavily muscled. Chains link up to Draco's leather wrist shackles and stretch his hands above his head. He feels the rage simmer up into his chest. Two more chains with leather padding snake between his thighs and wrench his legs apart, holding them open and displaying everything. Draco clenches his teeth and growls with a furiosity that suggests throat slashing. 

Draco blinks and snap, Piggett is unclothed and climbing onto the bed, towering over him. Draco flinches away, pressing into the mattress, but a large hand wrenches his mouth open and Draco chokes on his air. Piggett places something round and rubber into Draco's mouth and fastens it behind his head. Draco starts to breathe hard through his nose and shuts his eyes. Piggett takes a few strokes on his cock with a slicked up hand and then he just goes for it, pressing fast and sharp into Draco's arse and Draco screams into the gag because shit shit shit Piggett is huge and moving and fucking in and in and in. After what seems like millennia of agony, he feels something disgusting and wet fill his arse and Piggett groans, deep and low and maybe it's over. When he pulls out Draco exhales sharply through his nose, and Piggett has the audacity to tap the tip of Draco's nose, as if he's a five-year-old. Draco makes a strangled noise of fury and regrets it almost immediately. 

The next night, he's called again before dinner is over, and when he arrives at the dungeons, there are two large men who look him over thoroughly. Apparently satisfied with his appearance, they each hand Piggett a handful of Galleons. Piggett motions Draco into the same room, with it's chains and intimidating objects. He again tells Draco to strip, and Draco does, full to the brim with utter loathing and disgust. The two men, one of them with long red hair in a braid, the other with graying hair buzzed almost to his skull, both start removing clothes as well. They talk to Piggett quietly as they do so, and suddenly Draco can barely touch the floor, his arms stretched straight out to his sides by chains suspended from the ceiling. Another loops into the collar and forces his head up. He can feel the bile rising in his throat. The red-head takes up position behind him, and Draco cries out when he's penetrated. Then the other rubs his crotch on Draco's face and then traces his lips with the head of his cock. Draco glares defiantly up at him, clenching his teeth, but the man just chuckles and grabs his jaw, forcing his mouth open. He plunges in, and Draco chokes. The man moans in appreciation and thrusts in, and the man behind Draco takes his cue and fucks in as well, so Draco's being rocked back and forth between them. Any sound Draco would be making is cut off by his mouthful of cock, and he chokes over and over as the man fucks his mouth. He feels a hot substance pour into his arse and the man behind pulls out. Draco's legs give up, so he's just hanging by his hands and neck while the gray haired one just thrusts into his mouth over and over, grunting. Finally, he tastes the bitter flavor of come fill his mouth and the man pulls out. Draco is forced to swallow every drop of it, because the man holds his mouth closed tightly until he's sure Draco's finished. When he's released, Draco glares at Piggett and pants out: "Fuck you." Piggett grins and Draco falls to the floor in a heap. 

Piggett becomes a rich man very quickly, and McGonagall has no idea that her new DADA teacher is selling a student's body out by night. Once, there's a magical vibrator that Draco has to have in all day long. Sometimes Piggett books a client with an even more abnormally large cock and they request arse plugs for at least a day beforehand. There have been a few women, for whom Piggett supplies potions that make Draco unable to control the actions of his own cock. It happens every single night, and whenever Draco wakes up from his one or two nightly hours of sleep, he looks in the mirror and performs a few cosmetic charms to hide the bruising around the collar and the almost skull-like shadows under his eyes. He barely has the energy to do anything, and he's failing all of his classes. 

He only tries to take the collar off once. It's the night after at least five men took turns on him and he casts a Reductor curse at it. It leaves a slash on his neck and Piggett punches him in the jaw for it, and then proceeds to fuck Draco until he bleeds. 

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

After months of being controlled by the collar, Draco has had enough. He just wants out. In any way possible. So, about a week before exams, Draco decides to confront Piggett and accept the consequences. 

"I'm done." Draco stands defiantly in the middle of the corridor. "Kill me, hurt me, I don't care. But I'm done." 

Piggett growls at him. "You don't speak to me that way, boy." Draco feels the collar tighten a minuscule amount. He takes a deep breath and he's so exhausted, and in such pain that he just wants it to be over, and really, what does he have to look forward to in the future? Haunting memories of horrors no one cares about? He wants escape, and Piggett provides the perfect opportunity. 

"I won't do this anymore. The headmistress will hear about all of this." He says calmly. Then he turns and runs down the hall, Piggett bellowing after him. As Draco rounds a corner, he feels a curse hit him in the back. It doesn't hurt. Nothing hurts and Draco could cry with relief.   
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

A few days before exams are set to start, Draco Malfoy's body is discovered in the dungeons. Cause of death is unknown but foul play is suspected. There are no deadly wounds on his body so Avada Kadavra is the most likely theory. An investigation is being organized.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

"You've got it?"   
Hermione nods and holds up a vial with a swirling white memory in it.   
"Excellent." Harry takes the pensieve and places it on the endtable between them. Hermione takes the cork out and pours the memories in, and then Harry swirls the basin. 

They are investigating alongside Aurors in the Malfoy Murder Case by accessing the memories attached to scars and wounds on his body and attempting to pinpoint a killer. The memory they were scrutinizing came from a scar on the back of his hand, in a circle that connected to a steady line which ran all the way up his arm.

They stood in Malfoy Manor. It was dark, and the room was empty save for two people, Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange. Malfoy was sobbing. "Aunt Bellatrix, please, I - I did everything he asked, I - "   
"Hush!" She cackled. "It's not about you. Its about your father. But you're the one to feel his failure!" She sing-songed. Bellatrix carefully and lovingly picked up a thin knife from the coffee table. Draco hid his face and sobbed harder, and then she waved her wand and he was flat on his back, arms outstretched with his palms on the floor. Bellatrix straddled him and dug her knife into his hand, and he whimpered. She drew a circle and dragged a line all the way up his arm, down his chest and in between his legs, down his thigh and ended on his ankle. He panted and moaned and cried, but he never screamed or begged. She started in on his other side and Harry turns away. The pensieve releases them and Hermione just looks at him, eyes wide, their faces a mirroring expression of horror and shock.   
"Holy shit." Hermione swallows dryly. 

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

They see how once, when his father hit him for the first time, Lucius accidentally knocked him into the glass tabletop and he had to go to St. Mungo's. They see the Sectumsempra incident, and Snape asks Draco about his back while healing the bleeding gashes. That's how they find out about the whip, woven with bits of broken glass and made specifically to cause a special type of pain. 

They check the burn scar around and over his Dark Mark.

Harry and Hermione stand in a dark room, save for a single light that shows them Malfoy tied down to a chair. A large man stood next to him and the smoky air blurred his features. The man poured an oily substance over Malfoy's left arm and he didn't even flinch, just stared unblinkingly ahead.   
"This needs to be gotten rid of. Some people really dislike the symbolism." He snarled in a gravelly voice. Malfoy blinked and turned to glare icily at him. The man took out a match and touched it to the skin, and flames flared up, singeing Malfoy's hair as he screamed. His flesh melted and blackened for a minute or two while he screamed himself hoarse. Eventually the man cast an Aguamenti charm and Malfoy quieted down, sobbing and gasping in a broken rhythm.   
"Hmm," The man mused. "Didn't work. This magic is strong. I guess we'll make do, won't we?" He dug his fingernails into the mangled skin, and Malfoy screamed again.

And then they look into the one on his neck. 

Malfoy was looking in his bathroom mirror. He tugged on the leather collar around his neck with a look of loathing. He pointed his wand at his throat and muttered a Reductor spell. Blood blossomed from his neck and he stumbled around, cursing loudly until he found a stray shirt and applied pressure. The scene changes and they are in a room filled with red smoke and Malfoy was naked except for his leather collar and shackles in the middle of the room. A man lounged on the bed, eyeing Draco up and down. Then he smoothly got up, strode across, and punched Draco squarely in the jaw. Hermione gasps. He straddles Malfoy on the floor, hissing "What did I say about the collar?" And then not waiting for an answer as he unzips his pants. 

Hermione is breathless. "Harry." She says. "That was the Defense Against the Dark Arts Teacher."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my betas! I put them through the pain of the initial reading and the revisions. I'm so sorry. So, so sorry.


End file.
